Page 47 of Spark

Can’t have?—

All of a sudden, before I can read another word, Kendrick yanks the journal away from me. “Hey!” I shout, looking up at him. “Give it back. I just started reading something juicy.” When he shakes his head, I purr, “Come on. I just saw a two-pager called ‘Spank,’ you naughty boy, and I’m dying to know whatthat’sall about.”

Kendrick blushes. “There’s some personal stuff in here.”

I cock my head. “In your lyrics journal?” That’s new. “Is ‘Spank’ the personal thing you don’t want me seeing, younaughty, horny boy?” When he says nothing, I snicker and ask, “Is it about spanking your monkey or spanking someone’s ass?” When he doesn’t reply again, I reposition myself on the bed and sit up. “Look, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? I’ve let you read some of my most honest and vulnerable lyrics. I won’t judge you. I promise.”

“It’s not that it’s honest or vulnerable. It’s just stupid. It was a creative writing exercise. A ‘what if.’ There’s nothing true or honest about it. Not a single thing.”

That only makes me want to read it, all the more. Especially because Kendrick always lets me and everyone else in the band read everything in his lyrics notebook, no matter what it is, and we all do the same for him. That’s our way. Our songwriting process. So, why is he acting so weird now?

“All the more reason to let me read it,” I insist. But when he doesn’t budge, I add, “I didn’t realize you’d started writing personal stuff, or I never would have opened it without your permission. I’m sorry.”

Kendrick sighs. “It was dumb of me to put something personal in here. I had insomnia one night, so I opened my notebook, and, all of a sudden, words just started pouring out of me, like I was in a trance.”

“Isn’t that the best? I love it when that happens.”

“It was a first for me. Super weird. Cool, though.”

“Put that down and come lie down with me. Let’s get you some good sleep.”

Kendrick motions to the fridge. “What about the cocktails?”

“The moment’s passed. Let’s crash.”

Kendrick looks at me suspiciously. “In your room, then.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No.”

I laugh. He’s a smart man. Obviously, I want to respect Kendrick’s surprising request for privacy. But also, everythingabout Kendrick’s body language is making me rabidly curious to read those damned words.Spank.My god, that’s a sexy title.Is it filled with graphic, sexual confessions about how he likes to spank a woman’s ass while fucking her? I’m dying to know.Especially after that kiss. Just thinking about it is causing every nerve ending in my body to zip and zap, the same way it did when Kendrick deepened our kiss. Holy fuck, that was hot.

“Ruby?” Kendrick says, jolting me back to the present. He motions toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna pee, grab my pajamas and a toothbrush, and then we’ll go. Okay?”

Dang it. Sounds like I’m not going to get the chance to satisfy my curiosity tonight. “Okay, yeah. Whatever will make you feel most relaxed and comfortable for your sleep therapy, birthday boy, that’s what we’ll do.”

13

RUBY

We’re in my room now.

Kendrick’s in bed in his pajamas, with his teeth brushed and his face washed, while I finish up in the bathroom. In truth, I finished up my nighttime routine a few minutes ago, but I’m stalling, hoping to drag this out long enough to find Kendrick already fast asleep by the time I slide into bed next to him.

It’s not that I don’t want to be in a bed next to an awake Kendrick Cook. It’s that I do. Too much. Thanks to that damned kiss.

It was all for show, when I pulled his lips to mine. But when he joined in on my performance so convincingly, my body reacted in a way that felt extremely real. And now, I can’t deny I’m feeling curious. Tempted to do it again. Except for the fact that I’m not willing to make a move on a drunk man. Or to get rejected by said drunk man. Or tonotget rejected, only to wind up ruining my closest friendship because we’re both regretful in the morning.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I point emphatically at my reflection and mouth “No, Ruby,” before shuffling out of the bathroom.When I get into the bedroom, Kendrick’s on his back in bed. One languid, muscular arm is bent and slid under his head. One muscular leg is peeking out of the covers.

“Hey, cutie,” he says with a grin.

“Hey, hot stuff,” I reply. But this time, calling him that feels loaded somehow. Like I’m flirting with him. So, I quickly whisper, “Happy birthday.”

I flip off the overhead light, since the lamp next to Kendrick is on, and slide underneath the covers on my side.

“That was the best birthday party ever,” he says. “Thanks for making it so fun.”

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